Quilt As Desired

by Arlene Sachitano

  "A little long in the tooth for you, isn't she?” Michelle sneered and arched a brow.

  Harriet felt her face burn. She bit her tongue but remained silent.

  "What about Mom's will? Did she say what she wanted to happen with the quilts?"

  "Not really.” Michelle looked away. “She said to use our best judgment."

  Aiden stopped. “I know I'm not the executor of Mom's estate, but aren't we supposed to have a group reading of the will at the lawyer's office?"

  "You watch too much television."

  "I want to see the quilts,” Aiden said. “Where are they?"

  Michelle glared at her brother, and Harriet thought she wasn't going to answer.

  "They're in the blue bedroom."

  "Come on,” Aiden said and took Harriet's hand. He led her to the main staircase and down to the second floor to a blue-walled room.

  Show-quality quilts were stacked on the bed, folded on the dresser and draped over a small green upholstered chair and its matching ottoman. They varied in size from queen-size to lap quilts. Several still had their winning ribbons attached. Harriet picked up the corner of a large appliqued one. Purple Celtic knots made from narrow bias-cut fabric twined around a golden-yellow border fabric. The center medallion pattern resembled a Persian rug. The rich green, purple, red and blue fabrics Avanell had appliqued on the gold background appeared to be hand-dyed. Small perfectly round circles of fabric had been placed in various geometric shapes. Harriet preferred piecing to applique in her own work, but knew her preference had more to do with her lack of applique skill than anything else. It took a lot of patience to make the necessary tiny invisible stitches, and patience wasn't a trait she possessed in great quantity.

  She flipped the corner of the quilt back to expose the next one in the stack. Red, yellow and green tobacco roses were stitched onto cream background blocks. The applique blocks were set on point and alternated with ecru-colored blocks. Harriet recognized the style from a book her aunt had on Civil War quilts. A paper tag was attached to the corner of the quilt with a small strip of plastic that had been punched through the fabric. Two hundred-fifty dollars, the tag read.

  "This is a travesty,” Harriet said.

  "What?” Aiden crossed the room to stand behind her. She could feel the heat of his body through the thickness of her sweatshirt. She had to remind herself to think about the quilt.

  "This quilt is priced ridiculously low.” She flipped through the rest of the stack, turning the tags and looking at each in turn. “You couldn't buy the fabric for most of these for the prices they've put on them. I'll bet you anything the estate sale manager knows that, too. She probably has a shill or two who will show up first thing tomorrow to snap these up. Then she'll take them out of the area and resell them at their true value for a tidy profit."

  "You're sure about the values?"

  "Oh, please. I'm in the business. Believe me—these prices won't even cover what Aunt Beth charged to machine stitch them."

  "Really.” He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the three-digit information code. “Nathan Bohne, please.” He paused then hung up and dialed again. He must have been gotten an assistant, judging by his rather firm insistence that he needed to speak to Mr. Bohne now and he would hold while she interrupted him. After another pause for the man to come on the line, he proceeded to explain the basic situation.

  He inquired about Avanell's will, and she saw his jaw tighten as he listened silently—the man's voice was loud enough she could hear it. She couldn't make out everything that was being said, but she did grasp that he said the sale should be stopped and that he would call Michelle and inform her to cease immediately.

  Aiden snapped his phone shut. “That was weird."

  "What did he say?"

  "It's more what he didn't say. He said to stop the sale. He said that he is the executor of Mom's estate. Besides the executor, she apparently made a change to her will a few months ago as well. He wants me to come down to his office now—and Michelle, too. He said he'd been planning to call a meeting next week to read the will, but since Michelle was so intent on taking action, he would move it up and talk to us individually if that's what it took."

  "Did he give any hint as to what the changes to the will were?"

  "No, he didn't. Knowing my mom, she could have decided to give her house or money or even everything she had to her scholarship fund. She was determined that every child who wanted to attend college and had worked hard in high school should have a scholarship. She donated money herself, but she also was a master at getting donations from both individuals and business people. You can bet that anybody who ever made it big in any venue after leaving Foggy Point heard from my mother."

  "She was an amazing woman,” Harriet said.

  "You want to ride along to the attorney's office? We can take one of the cars from the garage so we don't have to walk back to the cottage first."

  Harriet felt like she had enough on her plate without involving herself in the drama that was unfolding in Aiden's family, but she was curious at the same time. She wanted to know who would benefit from the new will and who would have benefited before the change, and—most important—who knew about the change.

  The Vitamin Factory seemed to be in financial trouble, and if Michelle were to be believed, more than one family member had personal money troubles. It would explain a lot if the will left the money to the people who might benefit most. It wouldn't explain the damage to Lauren's quilt or the attacks on her, but then, it wasn't at all obvious those events were related in any meaningful way to Avanell's death, anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Aiden backed a black Lincoln Navigator out of the garage and leaned across the passenger seat to open the door for her. She got in, buckled her seatbelt and ran her hand over the warm leather seat.

  "This is a beautiful car,” she said, wonder apparent in her voice.

  "Yeah, Mom did love her cars. I think she has four, all of them top end. It was her one indulgence when the company took off."

  Randy jumped into the passenger side foot well, and Harriet closed the door. The dog lay down and propped her head on Harriet's foot as Aiden guided the SUV down the long curved driveway and headed toward downtown Foggy Point.

  They drove in silence for a few moments.

  "I wish I knew more about the business,” Aiden said. “Mom never talked about it when I was home. All she ever wanted to talk about was her latest scheme to get money for her scholarship fund."

  "Are your sister or brother involved in the business?"

  "I don't think so. I mean, Mom used to talk about the business belonging to all of us, and of us being on the board of directors, but I'm not sure she actually did anything formal. Marcel and Michelle didn't want to live in Foggy Point, and I did, but I also knew I wanted to be a vet from the time I was a little boy, so there was never any plan for me to join the business."

  "It's too bad you were away the last few years. It's hard to imagine what went wrong—seems like vitamins are more popular than ever. How could they suddenly be losing money?"

  "I have no clue, but maybe Mr. Bohne can shed some light on it."

  The law offices of Bohne, Bohne and Bohne were at the opposite end of Main Street from the veterinary clinic. The patriarch of the Bohne clan had purchased the grand Queen Anne-style Victorian in the early fifties. The house had been carefully restored in the “Pink Lady” style of its youth and converted into a suite of offices he had then populated with his sons and grandsons. Harriet had been there one time with Aunt Beth while she was in middle school. She remembered a waiting room filled with what her young self considered to be hideously uncomfortable furniture. In later years, she realized they were probably priceless antiques. She hoped they were still in use so she could validate this conclusion.

  "A penny for your thoughts?” Aiden asked.

  She turned her face toward the window so he wouldn't see the blush that crept up her neck and spread onto
her cheeks.

  "I was just thinking about possible changes your mother might have made to her will,” she lied. She wasn't about to admit that while he was worrying about the future of his mother's estate, she'd been daydreaming about really nice antiques.

  "Well, you won't have to wonder much longer,” he said, and put the car into park in the graveled area that took the place of the side yard. “We're here."

  He instructed Randy to stay and came around to Harriet's door to help her out. She hadn't had a man hold her car door since her senior prom. Now it had happened twice in a week. Steve's funeral didn't count—those people were paid to open her door.

  Michelle turned Avanell's Mercedes into the parking area and got out almost before she turned it off.

  "Oh, God,” she said as she joined them on the porch. “Why is she still with you?” She turned to Harriet. “This is none of your business."

  The door opened into a spacious waiting room in what had once been the formal parlour. Nathan Bohne motioned the trio into a hallway. He opened a door and guided Michelle into a small book-lined conference room. He motioned Aiden and Harriet into his office.

  "Would you please wait here while I speak to your sister?” he asked Aiden, although it was more a command than anything.

  Aiden raised his eyebrows but didn't argue.

  "I wonder why he's separating us?” he said when they were alone.

  "I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready. Maybe he knows your sister well enough to realize her reaction to whatever he's going to say might be better handled one on one."

  She sat, and Aiden paced around the room in uneasy silence for a full fifteen minutes before Nathan Bohne finally came back.

  "Your sister decided she'd go on back to your mother's place,” he said and shut the door behind him. “Her presence isn't necessary for what I'm about to tell you in any case."

  "Please, sit,” he said to Aiden and motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk, next to the one Harriet was sitting in. “Can I assume by her presence that you'd like Miss Truman to hear anything I might reveal to you?"

  "Yes,” Aiden said and sat down next to her as requested.

  "Let's begin, then.” He picked up a file from the credenza behind his desk and sat in his high-backed leather desk chair. He opened the file, picked up a sheet of paper then put it down and closed the folder. He leaned his elbows on the desk and tented his fingers, resting his chin on them.

  "Your mother came to me a few months ago to discuss her estate. She said she'd discovered certain irregularities in her tax returns. I asked her if she needed help from our legal investigators, but she declined. I assumed from the way she acted it was perhaps a family matter. Of course, now I wish I'd pressed the matter, but I suppose that's water under the bridge.

  "Your mother asked me to make certain to her will that I'd hoped we wouldn't be addressing this soon.” He picked up the folder again and pulled out the top sheet. “I've prepared a summary for you, I'll read now, and then I've got a complete copy of all the documents I'll give you when we finish probating the will."

  He cleared his throat and began to read. It might have been a summary, but it was still filled with legal language.

  Prior to the change, the bulk of Avanell's estate would have been divided among her brother and children, with a generous additional bequest going to her scholarship fund. Under the new plan, Bertrand would receive nothing. Scholarship trust funds were set up for all the grandchildren, with Avanell's community scholarship plan manager administering the payout. Marcel was to receive a fishing camp on the Toutle River and a rental property in Olympia.

  "You probably understand the next bequest better than I do,” Nathan said. “Your sister Michelle will receive her inheritance in the form of an annuity that will pay out a modest fixed income and will be administered by an investment management firm. It's an unusual arrangement for a competent adult heir."

  "Well, Michelle, as you may have noticed, is not your typical adult heir,” Aiden said. The muscle in his jaw twitched. If Nathan Bohne didn't hurry up, Harriet thought, he was going to have another death on his hands.

  "Now the part that involves you.” Bohne folded the summary paper and put it back in the folder. “Everything else goes to you,” he said.

  Utter silence filled the room. Harriet squirmed in her seat and finally broke the silence.

  "What, exactly, does that mean?"

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “It means everything Avanell owned that I haven't yet mentioned—her house and its contents, vacation properties with the exception of the fish camp, several investment properties and a number of financial instruments. Oh, and of course, her financial interest in the Vitamin Factory. When we've completed the probate process, I'll have a list of your new holdings. We also have a listing of her insurance policies and can help you with exercising them."

  Aiden leaned back in his chair. “I don't know what to say."

  "I know this is a difficult time for you and your family, and I don't want to make it more so by what I'm going to tell you next, but I can't in good conscience let you leave without having a clear understanding of what's going on.

  "The contents of your mother's house, as well as her cars, boats and any other vehicles are yours. Your sister has no right to sell, trade, distribute to other relatives or even touch anything in that house. Any conversation she might have had with your mother regarding individual objects was rendered invalid by your mother's latest will. She made her intentions very clear regarding your sister. You don't have to let her stay in the house; and frankly, now that your mother's funeral is over, you would be well served by showing her the door as soon as you return to the house."

  "That sounds a little harsh,” Aiden said.

  "I don't wish to make trouble between you and your sister, but she is not as innocent as she might appear."

  Harriet didn't think she appeared innocent at all but was pretty sure Aiden was still trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. Apparently, the lawyer was going to make sure that didn't happen.

  "I'm embarrassed to tell you that one of my clerks is an old college friend of Michelle's. Your sister coerced our employee into revealing certain facts about your mother's will without my permission. When she overheard your call a short while ago, she broke down and confessed that Michelle had called in an estate agent and planned to sell everything, including the cars and house. Michelle knew you would find out eventually but figured she would get as much as she could and apply it to her debts, and she assumed she could convince you that it was her due."

  Aiden stood up.

  "I'm sure you'll want to process everything,” Nathan Bohne said. He stood and held his hand out. “If I can be of further help, let me know.” He adjusted his gold silk tie. “I'll be down the hall in the library if you have questions. Take as long as you need. I know this is probably a bit of a shock."

  He left, and Aiden sat back down. He propped his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.

  "I can't believe Michelle was trying to sell Mom's house out from under me. She's my sister, for God's sake."

  Harriet didn't know what to tell him. Money did crazy things to people.

  "I'm sure she must have been desperate to try to scam you at a time like this."

  "I don't think desperate is the word I'd use.” He stood again. “I better get you home. Then, I need to go talk to my sister."

  "Are you sure that's a good idea? Maybe you should let things cool down a little."

  "I have to talk to her. She's my sister. Besides, I need to make sure that estate witch has cleared out."

  Chapter Thirty

  Aiden pulled in behind the blue Town Car in front of Mavis's cottage and let Harriet out.

  "I'll come back later on foot and pick up the rental car. I guess I can get rid of it now that I own four."

  "Maybe you could call Mavis when you're leaving home so you don't scare us to death when you get here."

  He
agreed, and she got out of the car and stood on the porch while he drove away. She turned to open the door but stopped when she heard a rustle in the rhododendrons to the left of the porch.

  "Who's there?” she called. She listened. “Is anyone there?” she called again.

  A figure in a baggy black jacket came around the bush.

  "Carla?” she said.

  "Hi, Harriet,” the young woman replied and looked at the ground.

  "What are you doing here? Did you come to see Mavis? I'll get her for you."

  "No,” she said. “I'm not here to see Mavis."

  "I don't understand,” Harriet said and stepped off onto the grass.

  "You want to help Misty, right?” Carla asked, her voice stronger.

  "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything. What are you doing here?"

  "Shhh,” she said and held her forefinger to her lips. “I found Misty. She's in a potting shed in the woods. She's not good. I took her to the shelter and we talked to the counselor, but she took off again. The counselor is getting her prescription filled, and she was hiding at my apartment till it was ready, but she was afraid to stay there. She was going to take off again, so I convinced her to come to the shed. I remembered it from when we used to play in these woods when we was little. It's not great, but at least it's dry and she feels safe. At least, I think she feels safe. I don't want to leave her, but I have to get her some food and water. And I have to work."

  "Can I talk to her?"

  Carla looked up at her. “Yeah,” she said. “I think that might help."

  She led the way around Mavis's cottage, across the yard and through a hole in the fence and into the woods. The shed was probably no more than five hundred feet beyond the wooden fence. Harriet could hear Misty before the two women went through the door.

  "Hush, little baby, don't say a word,” she chanted in her monotone.

  "Misty,” Harriet said. “How are you? Do you remember me? We spoke at Mrs. Jalbert's funeral."

  Misty started rocking, her arms wrapped across her middle, her left hand picking at her right elbow. Harriet's heart went out to the girl. When you were different, no matter how, people were cruel. Misty was lucky to have a friend like Carla to look out for her.